It feels good when you sing a song

Call me a cheeseball. You'd be absolutely right.

If you can't tell from the 1:1 ratio of personal essays: sesame street blog entries, we watch a lot of Sesame Street in the Anonymom household.

We've been watching Sesame Street Old School DVDs (which have episodes and clips from the 70's) pretty regularly for the past year. Which is how I started to get attached to David. He helped Mr. Hooper out at his store. And he was kind of cute. Kind of super cute. In the last month of so I've really gotten all crushified on him and the song he sang with Olivia below sealed the deal. You will rightly laugh at me for getting all tingly from this, but if I were Olivia and David started boogieing down to try to cheer me up, I'd have the same reaction she did. But with more puppy dog eyes.

I finally decided to google him and find out where in the world he ended up. Why wasn't he doing Elmo's Potty Time DVDs with Gordon and Maria? I was half hoping it was because he'd been living a life of ill-repute.

He died. In 1990. Of stomach cancer. I'm really, really bummed about this.

RIP Northern J. Calloway.

****(Added later). Okay, it may not have been stomach cancer. His family chose not to talk about it too much but apparently there were rumours of mental illness, drug addiction, you name it. It doesn't change the fact that losing this smiley gem of a human being was a sad loss. There's a new book out about the history of Sesame Street (yea!) that I plan on buying to get the goods. I wish I could take Maria out and get her drunk and talking. The stories that woman could tell!

Miss Anonymom if you're nasty

Having a toddler is disgusting. Maybe you could blow what I say off if I were a reasonably neat and clean person to begin with. But I'm a nasty, notorious slob. I decided basic acts of hygiene like bathing and shaving were horrible, electable chores a long time ago, didn't accept that I really should wash my face/brush my teeth/take out my contacts every single night until I was well into my twenties. And my housekeeping skills...well...thank goodness Anonyhub values a clean floor, otherwise sweeping and mopping might be an annual event. So I'm not averse to slovenly messes.

And yet I can say this, and say it without reservation: living with a toddler is disgusting.

I live with someone who shits in her pants. Who has no qualms about popping things into her mouth that she found on the floor, or in a hardened mass in her high chair seat. She thinks nothing of peeing in her bathwater and then trying to drink it. In fact, she thinks it's quite amusing.

Here's my freshest tale of woe: with all of the snow and cold in Chicago recently, Anonybabe and I have been home bound a lot on the weekends. It makes a soul want to get out and do things really really bad. So Anonybabe and I had been doing a lot of farting around the house for a couple of days, and she didn't really want to go outside any more than I do. I think she has a snow phobia after watching Frosty the Snowman a few months back, but that's another story. The one activity that seemed to hold it's appeal for her was a trip to the toy store. So we bundled up, ran to catch the bus, motored down to our local (green, organic!?) hot dog place where Anonybabe proceeded to refuse to eat and then wolf down her peanut butter sandwich, demand a hot dog, scarfed half of her apple sauce while using the other half of it for finger painting the table, refused ice cream while crying (?! though it will become clear why she did this later). I slowly and tentatively ate her kiddy ice cream cup, convinced that as soon as I was through she would scream for ice cream.

She didn't, and we headed to the library where she happily ran around pulling books off of the book shelves and squealing with delight when I found some Arthur the Aardvark books. "Ah-tur...wight...TO-wee" she repeated when I announced we were checking out "Arthur Writes a Story". I'd smelled a horrible smell several times while we were cruising the stacks, since she had a onesie on I could only assume she had a messy shit we needed to clean up before moving along so I took her to the family bathroom. She cried and resisted, and I peeled off her many layers only to find a nominally wet diaper. It was only killer gas.

So I got her re bundled and we got in the mile long check-out line. The eastern European couple behind us laughed while Anonybabe wiggled and asked to climb the stairs and yelled "No No NO, Mama" when I tried to move her forward from the bench where she was flipping through books. "No, No, No!" the couple behind me laughed and smiled at me and chatted away in Polish, perhaps, while I sweated and tried not to drop our coats and books and pulled out our library card and attempted to keep my mouthy 21 month-0ld from wandering too far up the stairs or away from the line.

I was both crabby and determined to play with toys, dammit by the time we got to the toy store - a quaint, individually owned place that is tightly packed with lots of old-fashioned and new fangled stuff, sans any flashing lights. We peeled off our coats and hats and I asked a sales person if we could set my bag and our coats behind the counter so I wouldn't have to carry them and monitor Anonybabe. He started to say no until the owner stopped him and said "of course we can" and took them with a smile. I was grateful to her but worried that I'd made a potential enemy of this salesman who looked as hot and bored and cramped as I felt...especially when I didn't plan on buying anything.

Anonybabe toddled about like she owned the place and I sat wishing she would be quieter. We played with the puppets for a while, where she demanded that I hold each one and have it talk to her. She proceeded to take a sippy cup from a display and put it in her mouth. Then when we moved on to a table they had set up with some toys and Anonybabe took delight in running the truck toys over on to the floor, toddling away and ignoring me when I tried to give her a lecture about picking up her mess. By this time she smelled terrible again. But there's no changing table in this place and I hoped that the smell wasn't carrying too far beyond us. I was determined that we were going to stay a little while before leaving. I tried to keep Anonybabe from pulling a few more things off the shelves, then directed her to the Thomas the Tank Engine table. She was delighted and played around it happily while I tried to ignore the smell emanating from her pants and promised myself that as soon as I had just a teensy more energy for it, I was going to ask for our coats and train us back home.

I'd long tipped the balance into assholery for subjecting other patrons to her smell when I finally asked for our coats and bag. When I carried her to the front of the store to put on her coat I discovered why. She'd had a diarrhea blow-out and the yellowy shit had shot up and above the waistband of her diapers, seeped through her onesie and her two shirts. There was nothing for it but to put on her white coat over the shit stains, put her in the carrying wrap, hold her close and pick our way over the snowy sidewalks to the train for the 15 minute commute home.

When we got on I tried to stand as far away from people as possible, and with the cold I don't think the smell started to gain traction until right before we got off. You know how you smell shit on a train and you look around for the homeless person. We were the propagator.

Anonybabe fell asleep as we were approaching our block but started to bawl when I tried to lay her on the changing table. I'd already gotten shit on the inside of my coat, so I laid her on it instead and proceeded to peel off layer after shitty layer of clothes, hers and mine. She woke up for real when I started wrestling off her tights and I was able to sit her up so I could just cut off her onesie without having to pull all of that shit over her head, face and hair. All this time I'd been making a putrid pile of clothes on the changing table. I took us, both naked, into the bathroom where I showered us down, flecks of roughage swirling down the drain.

The whole experience was disgusting and humiliating. I was the person with the feisty, crabby, belligerent toddler. I was the person whose attempts to guide and discipline sounded flat and lame. I was the person who smelled strongly of shit.

Beet this

I'm eating some beet & carrot pancakes right now. They are like potato pancakes, but with...well...you know.

Damn, they're good! Does anybody know how to cook potato pancakes, though? Mine always come out greasy-soggy and/or charred. I'd like them to be crisp and browned.

Herd immunity

Anonybabe has not yet gotten her measles shot. She was due to have one 3 months ago but I didn't feel comfortable giving her the full MMR (measles, mumps, rubella). It's the controversial shot that the CDC swears has no connection to autism while many angry parents swear that it does. Our pediatrician is all for giving as few shots as possible, but thought a stand-alone measles shot was a good idea since measles are harsh. His office didn't have just the measles shot on hand, so we were going to reschedule another appointment to get it. I just haven't.



Now, listening to this podcast, I feel like a heel. The interview with the mother of the 10 month old who lost 1/3 of his body weight in 5 days was particularly poignant.



I do believe in doing what's best for public health. I do believe I'm responsible if I or my baby pass on a disease that has negative effects on someone else's family.



But I also believe that the federal government, the CDC, and my family physician have to prove to me that the stuff I'm injecting into my daughter's body is harmless...or less harmless than the diseases they aim to prevent. They seem to be. I truly hate to sound like a paranoid person, but public institutions don't always have the best track record of keeping the individuals best interest at heart. I sort of applaud the guerrilla tactics of the parents who aren't getting shots, but I think they should only do what they do in order to force pharmaceutical companies, the CDC, etc, to be more trustworthy.

Ugh. Vaccination issues are in an ugly place right now, but heading towards a better tomorrow, where people know more about what they are injecting in their kids and why.

Wow factor

I'm kind of contractually obligated to say this, but I mean it anyway: Anonybabe is cute. With her big, big, eyes and long eyelashes and buster brown bob. Ca-yute. And as far as I can tell, she appears to have a brain in that pretty little noggin. She talks - oy, does she talk - giving what sounds like a helium laced narration to every aspect of our day. "Mama ee why cookie! Daddy ee why cookie! Mama, Daddy, Anonybabe ee why cookie too!" (Mama, Daddy, and Anonybabe are all eating white cookies together; hooray!)

To anybody else, she might not seem like much more than a dirty little imp who says
'no" and/or "top it, Mama" at every opportunity, but i know her inauspicious beginnings. what you see before you may not seem like much, but dude, did you see what we started with?

Mooo-ve over, human...or, You've come a long way, mama

Few days back, a group came over to my house for brunch. A college buddy who has a son about five months younger than Anonybabe asked if I'd weaned Anonybabe yet.

"Weaned?!" another friend piped in, "weaned? Is that the word you use?"
"Yeah, I think so," college buddy blushed a little and looked to me for backup.
"Weaned," I concurred. And looked at other friend a little perplexed.
She wrinkled her nose. "That sounds so...animalistic."

Yep. It does. It is. The moment made me realize how much more comfortable I am with my body since having a baby and nursing this long. I didn't even bat an eye when my male buddy brought up my breastfeeding routine in a room full of people who hadn't breastfed. I thought of it as normal breakfast conversation.

To that I can only say: Yea!

My community - I'm really, really sorry if I make you uncomfortable with my casual talk of boobs, my occasional whipping out of the breasticles, even now. But it is SO DAMN NICE not to worry about it anymore. And really, aren't all of our lives a little nicer with the introduction of a little casual nip?

I added Hathor the Cow Goddess links to my website - she's a chick who is gaga over whipping out her breasts. I used to find her a little too strident about it, but now I think she's right.

Happy holidays! Give boobs a chance!

So it's not just me?

Anonyhub threw a birthday party of sorts for me last week, the dear. This is not pertinent to the post, but I gotta pause here to give due credit: Anonyhub cooked like a fiend and the party had a delicious spread: meatballs with pineapple sauce, sweet & savory cookies with herbs on top and cut into wagon wheel wedges, grilled asparagus, spicy roasted sweet potato blocks...it was just delish. Unfortunately, I had one of those nights where the more drinking I did, the more I wanted to just be an introvert. My friends kept me rolling in laughter most of the night, but when things inevitably petered down there were some awkward silences and I just couldn't jump in to fill the void. Ah well...sometimes you feel like a party nut, sometimes you don't. I was really, really glad friends came over in the cold, snow and ice on a pre-Christmas weeknight and didn't want them to get the wrong impression.

Anypartypooper, we hired a babysitter to take Anonybabe off the premises during the party, but she was returned before anybody left, and surprised me by toddling around the room and talking non-stop. This led to some mild amusement amongst our guests. At one point, a partygoer made a joke and did it in the same tone Anonybabe had been using all night...the one I blog about here...the one that was driving me so crazy when she first started using it. I've gotten used to the way she talks now, for the most part, but when I heard my friend mimicking her spot-on, I thought, "Ah! So it isn't just me! When she raises her voice like that it is freaking annoying!!" There's a teeny part of me that feels like a heel for often cringing at the sound of my daughter's voice....but a big part of me that feels glad I'm not alone.

I'm going to assume she won't talk like this for the rest of her life, while simultaneously scouring Craigslist for Anonybabe's very own Henry Higgins. No slipper fetching required.